


Every Day is Christmas (As Long As Every Day You're Mine)

by iknowhowyoukiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Pirate Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 00:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8869486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iknowhowyoukiss/pseuds/iknowhowyoukiss
Summary: It’s a rare quiet night in Storybrooke, just Killian Jones and his best girls, a little holiday cheer, and a Christmas tune on repeat in his head (which he only hums aloud because his daughter enjoys it).





	

**Author's Note:**

> I love the holidays, so, so much, and I’m trying to get through as many holiday-themed fics as I can before the year is over, so have some pirate family holiday fluff! Hope it gives you the warm fuzzies in your heart :)) Xx

Killian Jones has lived quite an extraordinarily long life, and in that time, he’s been fortunate enough to see quite a bit of beauty. Probably more than any one person should have been lucky enough to experience. He would be the first to say, however, that of the places he’s been and the people he’s seen and the many treasures he’s amassed, _nothing_ has ever held a candle to the beaming grin and delighted laughter of his and Emma’s daughter as they take her around the neighborhood to admire the Christmas decor adorning the houses.

Charlotte Evelyn Jones is a stunning child -- if he does say so himself -- an absolute perfect blend of he and Emma, with her big, bright green eyes and dark hair, and a dimpled smile sweet enough to melt even the Grinch’s cold heart. At eighteen months old, they’ve learned that she rather enjoys the holidays, loves the lights and the music and the overall cheer that comes with the winter months. 

Their own home is made festive by a string of glittering lights around the porch and along the roof that magically -- literally, thanks to Emma -- appeared after Thanksgiving. A thick wreath of pine, ribbon and ornaments hangs cheerfully outside of their door too, but their decorations are tame in comparison to others.

To his endless astonishment, quite a few of their neighbors exhibit cheer in spades, making a show of covering every inch of their home in lights and filling every foot of lawn space with both inflatable and light-up figures -- reindeers, Santas, sleighs, etc. It’s beautiful and amusing, but he is far more interested in the way Charlotte coos in his arms and waves her little mitten-covered hands at the monstrous Santa sitting on the edge of Leroy’s lawn. He smiles and brushes a loving kiss to her temple, jiggling her a bit on his hip so her feet sway and kick with her excitement.

“What’s that, Charlie? Hmm? Is that Father Christmas?”

“Danta! Danta!” Charlotte squeals with glee before covering her mouth with her hands and giggling to herself.

Killian chuckles at her antics and absentmindedly reaches up to tug the toque on her head further down, making sure her ears remain covered. Emma presses into his side then, and the warmth of her is both a familiar and welcome thing. She peers over his shoulder to playfully pinch Charlotte’s nose between her index and middle fingers, eliciting another laugh out of their daughter.

“That’s a _big_ Santa, isn’t it?” Emma asks.

In reply, she grabs her mother’s nose and laughs again. “Mama nose!”

“That’s right,” Emma smiles. “Where’s Santa’s nose?”

Charlotte points at the cartoonish figure again, then her attention shifts to the inflatable sleigh further up the lawn. “Sleigh! My sleigh!”

“Oh, it’s yours now, huh?” Emma wonders, looping her arm through his and tucking herself deeper into his side.

Charlotte continues to mutter gibberish between her limited -- albeit growing -- vocabulary, while he and Emma listen intently, as if understanding every word regardless. Emma hums and nods at all the appropriate places, resting her head on his shoulder as they move away from the house and make their way back to their home at a leisurely pace. It’s a rare quiet night in Storybrooke, just him and his best girls, a little holiday cheer, and a Christmas tune on repeat in his head (which he only hums aloud because Charlotte enjoys it), and it’s utter perfection.

Stepping across the threshold of their doorway goes a long way in warding off the chill that’s begun to settle in the air the deeper into the night they get. There are lights strung up everywhere inside their humble abode, garland wrapped around the bannister and draped over every available surface Emma and Henry could find. Gift wrap lays haphazardly over the kitchen table beside a stack of presents waiting to be wrapped, and Charlotte’s toys are scattered across the floor -- mostly from the living room but trickling in near the entrance. Killian smiles fondly as he lightly kicks one out of the way. He notes the dishes in the sink, abandoned there after dinner, and reminds himself to come down and do some tidying up after he gets Charlotte changed and tucked into bed.

It’s messy presently, but it feels warm and cozy and _lived in_. It feels like home.

He blows a raspberry against Charlotte’s cheek when she playfully traps his face between her little hands to smush his cheeks together and make his lips pucker. He smiles once more as her happy giggles fill the air, wondering if he’ll ever tire of that sound. It’s highly unlikely.

“Come along, wee love. You’re for bed.”

“Uh-uh,” she states matter-of-factly, shaking her head and scrunching her nose in a gesture so reminiscent of Emma it makes his heart squeeze sweetly in his chest.

“No?” he wonders, indulging her despite beginning to move towards the stairs.

He catches Emma’s gaze from where she’s hanging up her coat, tucks her tender smile into his memory for safe keeping, and because he wants to -- because he _can_ \-- he changes course and makes for her instead, closing the space between them to kiss her gently on the mouth. Her hand finds its way onto his cheek and her eyes are brilliantly green and happy when he pulls away.

“What was that for?” she asks.

“Because I love you,” he replies -- so easily, so simply -- and he has the pleasure of being able to watch her expression go soft in that way like she still can’t quite believe it.

She pushes up onto her toes and kisses him again in lieu of an answer, lightly stroking her thumb over the scar on his cheek.

“Mama! Mama!” Charlotte cries, leaning forward while trying to simultaneously wrap her arms around Emma’s neck and kiss her too.

It makes them both laugh, and though she doesn’t take Charlotte from him, she welcomes her affection and peppers her own little face with more kisses.

“I love you, too, Charlie. Why don’t you and Daddy go get ready for bed and I’ll be up in a bit to help tuck you in, okay?” She glances up at him then and the look she treats him with is pure mischief and _all_ for him. “And after...”

Emma gives a slight shrug of her shoulders at that, eyes dancing with wicked intent as she drops her heels to the floor and her hand falls to the lapel of his coat which she gives a playful little tug to. It’s hard to miss her underlying meaning of what exactly ‘ _after_ ’ entails and he feels his pulse jump and quicken at the thought. He catches her off-guard, dipping his head to give her a swift kiss on the mouth to tell her exactly what he thinks of the idea.

“Go on then, Swan. Make haste, hmm?”

He leaves her with a playful slap to her romp, her smile imprinting itself into his memory while the sound of her amused laughter follows him up the stairs.

Bedtime routine with Charlotte is easy enough, now that he’s had a fair amount of practice and she’s a bit older. He sets her down in her crib where she leans up against the side and immediately reaches her arms back out for him. Killian shakes his head -- she’s a daddy’s girl through and through -- and takes a moment to shrug out of his jacket and unwrap the scarf from around his neck. He can’t say that he minds one bit.

With Charlotte’s help, they get her out of her winter wear and changed into a thick yellow onesies in record time. He hands her a stuffed crocodile -- a gift from her grandfather, Dave, who has an _impeccable_ sense of humor -- to keep her occupied while he sets about cleaning up. If it were up to him, he’d throw the blasted thing out, but Charlotte has developed a deep, abiding love for it, much to his chagrin.

Killian steps out for a quick moment to dispose of the trash in her room and hang his coat up downstairs. He slips out of his boots while he’s at it, quietly humming that same Christmas tune that’s been stuck in his head for most of the day. (Charlotte also has an affinity for ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ and insists on listening to it over and over every chance she can get.) He can hear Emma on the phone, and judging by her tone, it sounds like work. As he heads back up the stairs, he hopes she isn’t being called in last minute, remembering that sultry look on her face and her eyes full of promise.

There’s an extra pep in his step when he clears the landing, and he hums Charlotte’s favorite song a little louder so she can hear. He enters through her door and abruptly comes up short, eyes going wide as he takes in his surroundings.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters under his breath.

It’s like walking into a Winter Wonderland -- white lights strung up across the ceiling and draped over every bit of space imaginable. There’s a giant Santa next to Charlotte’s crib, along with two light up deers and an inflatable sleigh that looks suspiciously like the one that they’d seen earlier on Leroy’s lawn.

_Oh, bloody hell_.

“Swan?” he calls out, loud enough for his voice to carry through the house. His gaze drops to his daughter, who is staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes and a smile brighter than all the lights combined. Killian sighs as he shuffles over, leaning his arms over the edge of her crib and studying her.

He can hear Emma’s footfalls up the steps, snatches of her conversation with Dave.

“What do you _mean_ everything is missing? How is that possible? We just walked by about ten min-” She abruptly cuts off when she enters Charlotte’s room, eyes going wide as she takes it all in. “Oh my god.”

Her questioning gaze turns towards him and all he can do is shrug his shoulders at her. The corners of his mouth twitch with the suddenly distressed look on her face.

“A giant Santa?” she says, eye flickering over to the one next to their daughter’s crib. “I see...and an inflatable sleigh? _And_ all the lights. Right. I have to go, let me call you back.” He can hear David’s protests on the line before Emma promptly hangs up. “Did she-”

“Aye.”

“With her-”

“Magic? Aye.”

This time, she’s the one that sighs, sliding her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and trudging over to him. She leans up against him, resting one arm against his shoulder and the other beside his on the crib gate.

“It seems our little princess has developed quite the taste for Christmas decor.”

“‘ _Princess_?’” Emma snorts, bumping her hip with his affectionately. “I think you mean ‘ _pirate_.’”

Charlotte seems to agree, tossing her toy aside to reach her arms up for him again. She grumbles, little hands latching onto his own arms so she can pull herself up onto her feet and inch closer into his hold. Killian smiles at her before shifting to slide his arm and hand beneath her armpits so he can lift her out of the crib.

“Mastering the fine art of pillaging and plundering before the age of two. It’s a marvel you are, aren’t you, Cygnet?” He bounces her on his hip, watching her and listening attentively while she mumbles words that sound suspiciously like ‘lights’ and ‘mine,’ then babbles on and gestures toward the glowing specks covering the ceiling.

With a wave of Emma’s hand they disappear, along with the rest of the decor, returning to where they’d come from, he reckons. The second they go, he feels the shift in Charlotte, manages to catch sight of the tremble of her lower lip and the way her eyes squint and her brow furrows before she promptly bursts into tears.

Killian’s hand automatically cups the back of her head as he begins a familiar bounce and rock action he’d learned from Emma in previous months to help soothe a fussy baby. “Oh, Charlotte,” he says, pressing his lips to her brow and pacing with her around the room. “There, there, my love. It’s okay, it’s alright.”

It’s probably silly, but it makes his heart ache to see her upset, to see her red face and hear the distraught sound of her cries. He’d give her the world if he could, Leroy’s whole house if she so wished. Unfortunately, things don’t work that simply, and eventually, when she’s old enough to truly understand, she’ll have to learn that she can’t get everything she wants. At least, not by way of magic.

Emma’s phone rings again and she gives him and Charlotte a sympathetic look before she answers the call. Killian idly walks Charlotte from the room, murmuring comforting words while he rubs gently at her back. She calms down significantly by the time they make it downstairs, and even though she’s resting her cheek against his shoulder, she’s still sniffling into his neck and clutching at the chain of his necklace.

He stops in front of their tree in the living room, where the lights are bright and twinkling and make their ornaments sparkle too. He hopes that while they might not be as abundant or ostentatious as the ones she’d procured for her room, they’ll brighten her sour mood.

Charlotte sniffles again and gestures at the tree with her hand without moving from her spot snuggled against him. The corners of his mouth tip up and he rests his cheek against her forehead.

“Aye, love. I know you like the lights. They’re very pretty, aren’t they? But you know, it’s bad form to take things that don’t belong to us.” He pats gently at her back until he feels her body go completely lax and knows that she’s nodded off for the day. “Not to worry, my darling. There’s time yet for you to learn all of that.”

The rustle in the doorway draws his attention away from the tree and he smiles once more at the sight of Emma leaning against the entryway of the living room, her arms crossed and a frown marring her face.

“That was Dad,” she tells him. “Leroy called, said his decorations magically reappeared.”

“Imagine that,” he chuckles, continuing to sway Charlotte while she sleeps in his arms.

She pauses for a moment, something else clearly weighing on her mind, then abruptly blurts out, “We couldn’t _really_ keep all of that, could we?”

Killian laughs again, quietly so as not to disturb their toddler, but he holds his arm out for her and beckons her to come closer. She slides into his space without any hesitation, arms wrapping around his middle. He curls his arm around her and rests his lips against her forehead, understanding _completely_ the need to give Charlotte everything she desires.

“No, love, we certainly couldn’t.”

“Right.” She huffs out a heavy breath, holding him just a little tighter before she places her hand against Charlotte’s back, linking the three of them. “You’re right, of course.”

She says no more beyond that, but Killian doesn’t mind, content just to hold them under the lights of their Christmas tree.

“She’s getting stronger,” Emma comments after a while, hand rubbing a soothing circuit along Charlotte’s spine.

“Aye,” he agrees, frowning at the worry in her voice. “We’ll figure it out, Swan, we always do.”

“You sound so sure.”

“Have I ever told you a lie?”

“Well,” she starts, lifting her head to scrunch her nose at him, laughter bright in her eyes. “There was that one time you said you were a blacksmith.”

He hoots at that, shifting them around and steering her towards the stairs. “Touché. Well, why don’t we put the little one to bed and you can think of an appropriate punishment.”

“It’s too bad Charlotte’s sleeping through the night now, otherwise I would have given you all the early morning feedings for two weeks.”

He winces at that, remembering from not too long ago how they would both get up anyway whenever Charlotte would wake hungry or in need of a diaper change or just wanting to be held and played with, no matter the hour.

“I would hope that you would think up something more... _enjoyable_ ,” he teases.

Emma hums contemplatively, tapping a finger against her bottom lip. “If I’m going to be honest, I didn’t return _all_ of Leroy’s things.”

He pauses halfway up the stairs to give her a curious glance, brow arching high on his forehead. She holds her palm out and magic swirls in her hand, white smoke that dissipates to reveal a neat little sprig of mistletoe tied with a festive red ribbon.

“Swan,” he mock-gasps, punctuating the point with a firm kiss to her lips. “You absolute _scoundrel_.”

She giggles at him, and he has the fleeting thought that perhaps there are _two_ things that all the beauty in the world can’t quite hold a candle to.

“What’s that saying? A family that pillages and plunders together, stays together?”

He gives her butt another playful slap, making her squeal as she jogs up the rest of the steps ahead of him. “Something like that.”

Something like that, indeed.

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. Yes, their daughter’s name is the feminine variant of 'Charles' ;P


End file.
